


broken bruised forgotten sore

by cracktheglasses (cormallen)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Age Difference Play, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood, Bloodplay, Come Eating, Consent Play, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gaslighting, Knifeplay, M/M, Sexual Violence, Under-negotiated Kink, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6699073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cracktheglasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"How do you know I’ll stop if you won’t say when?” Hux asked. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Because if you don’t, you don’t get to do it again, of course,” Kylo said. “You bleed me dry, you don’t get a do-over.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He bent close, breath ghosting over Hux’s ear, a hot little whisper.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I know you’re going to want to do it to me more than just the once."</i>
</p><p>(or, Hux wants to play with knives. Kylo lets him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	broken bruised forgotten sore

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Nine Inch Nails' "Somewhat Damaged".
> 
> Please heed the tags. Nothing but dead dove here. 
> 
> [@machinewithoutfeelings](http://machinewithoutfeelings.tumblr.com/), thank you for all your help with this garbage!

The boy is crying. He’s been crying since Hux showed him the knife, fat tears forming in the corners of his eyes, sliding down shiny over a bruised cheek. He stopped struggling against the restraints when he saw it, eyelashes suddenly fluttering fast, shoulders slumping, face dissolving, uneven, into quick sobs. It really is remarkable, how expressive he is. Hux can almost smell it, taste it, palpable in the air, the boy’s thready, rabbiting pulse, his fear spiking.

He’s not a boy. Not really, but Hux likes to think of him as such, despite the stubble on his chin, the muscled, heavy span of his shoulders. He could be a man grown, but here in Hux’s domain, he’s a frightened, skittery little thing, all of his strength, all of his height reduced to a desperate scrape as he tries to reach the floor with the tips of his toes. He can almost make it. Almost, as he hangs there in his ropes.

Hux surveys his pale, bare chest critically and settles on a nipple, soft and pink. The boy shivers at the cool swipe of peroxide as Hux treats the delicate spot, getting it ready. The skin pebbles under his touch. It’s a standard physical response, nothing unusual under the circumstances, the aureola darkening with increased bloodflow, the silky skin going tense, but it sends the boy breathing sharply through his nose, his eyes squeezing tightly shut.

That won’t do.

“Look at me,” Hux says, and flicks the reddened nipple with his thumb, grinds his nail in just a bit, until the boy makes a torn little sound around his gag and slides his lashes open. His mouth is working the thick rubber bit, the ball of it shiny with spit between his spread, stretched lips. More is dribbling down his chin, a wet glisten down his trembling throat.

Hux turns the knife comfortably in his hands, adjusting his grip. The light glints off of the blade in polished slices, and the boy sobs again, but keeps his eyes open.

“Shh,” Hux says gently, and pinches the swollen, dark nub of flesh between his fingers, squeezing tight. “This will hurt.”

 

* * *

 

_“I don’t want to be able to safeword out,” Kylo said. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”_

_“The point is, everyone has boundaries,” Hux told him, but Kylo only shrugged._

_“Yes. Everyone has boundaries. Even you. So, you can do whatever you want.”_

_“What if what I want to do is bleed you?” Hux said, and Kylo laughed, sudden and vicious._

_“What if? I_ know _you want to bleed me,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss, a soft, delicate press of lips, gentle at the corner of Hux’s mouth._

_“How do you know I’ll stop if you don’t say when?” Hux protested, pulling back, watching that plump, petulant lip crook._

_“Because if you don’t, you don’t get to do it again, of course,” Kylo said. “You bleed me dry, you don’t get a do-over.”_

_He bent close, breath ghosting over Hux’s ear, a hot little whisper._

_“I know you’re going to want to do it to me more than just the once.”_

 

* * *

 

Whatever he wants. What he wants -- what he wants is the quick slice, the rush of blood, the wet smack of flesh hitting the floor. Easy drag of the blade across for a second set of the same.

He could do it. He might even be forgiven if that is all he does.

But Kylo was right; the promise of doing this again -- and again, as many times as is needed -- is a heady draw. One he thinks he shouldn’t want to resist.

Hux focuses on that. Leashes his other desires. Muzzles them. Looks the boy in the face, meets his wide, scared eyes.

There is enough there, he thinks. There ought to be.

Hux grips the knife tighter, and presses the tip of the blade into the center of the boy’s nipple, digging the point firmly in. He holds it taut with his other hand, skin stretched and abused between his thumb and forefinger, and the boy moans low behind his gag.

Carefully, slowly, he twists the narrow point of the knife, a half-turn, trying not to do too much damage too quickly. The bleeding begins all at once, a sudden glossy red welling up around where the knife goes in, the heavy droplets breaking under their own weight and oozing downwards.

He feels the boy’s entire body clench as he withdraws the knife, the blood flowing more freely, and brushes the tips of his fingers over the smudged, opened up bud of his nipple.

The boy makes another abortive noise around the fat rubber ball stretching his lips; trying to speak, perhaps to yell, or to beg.

Hux considers it for a moment.

“I am going to take the gag out now,” he tells the boy. “Are you going to make me regret it?”

The boy shakes his head quickly from side to side. More tears squeeze out from under his eyelids, leaving wet trails over his scrunched up face.

“Good,” Hux says, and undoes the straps.

 

* * *

 

_“Names,” said Hux, tightening the rope._

_“Names?” Kylo repeated. His expression as Hux looped the bindings over his wrists was almost beatific. “Don’t you want to be yourself? I know I want you to.”_

_“Hm. So. Hux,” Hux said. “No masks. No pretense.”_

_Kylo shook his head. The rope pulled, making the winch rattle. “No masks.”_

_“And you?” Hux asked._

_Kylo thought for a moment._

_“You want me to be_ him _, don’t you,” he said, and looked down to the floor. When he lifted his face again, his eyes were red-rimmed. Wet. Glistening. His full mouth trembled. He looked smaller, somehow. Younger. Infinitely more breakable._

_“Yes,” Hux said. “Yes. Be him.”_

 

* * *

 

“Tell me your name,” Hux says. It’s not a fair question; Hux already knows what the boy is called, from the license and library card and all the other plastic in his wallet, discarded into a large black garbage bag along with the rest of the boy’s things. He just wants to see if the boy will lie to him.

He doesn’t.

“B- Ben,” he says, stuttering only a little, and runs his tongue along his plump bottom lip like he’s trying to chase the rest of the rubber taste from his mouth.

“Ben,” Hux repeats. “Good. Are you going to keep being good for me, Ben?”

“If I do. If I do what you want,” Ben says in a reedy voice. “Will you let me go?”

“That depends,” Hux says, stroking his hand down Ben’s jaw, pressing the tips of his fingers into the hot, soft give of the bruise there.

Ben shudders.

“On what?”

“On whether letting you go is what I want,” Hux says, and smiles.

 

* * *

 

_"Will you tell me about him?” Kylo asked. “Was he your first?”_

_“No,” Hux told him, pausing to tuck an errant strand of glossy black hair behind Kylo’s ear._

_“Was he your favorite?” Kylo asked petulantly. He looked almost envious, angling up into the touch._

_“Kylo, no,” Hux said. “Stop. This jealousy is unbecoming.”_

_“Am I?”_

_“My favorite?” Hux specified._

_“Yes,” said Kylo._

_“Open,” Hux said, “Wider,” and rubbed the ball of the gag over his lips. “Yes, like that,” he said. “Yes, Kylo. Yes.”_

 

* * *

 

When Hux lowers the winch, Ben turns to look at him gratefully, feet finally finding purchase on solid ground.

“Thank you,” he says, carefully shifting his weight from one ankle to the other. Bound as he is, this doesn’t avail him of much, and Hux wonders how desperate he must be, how tired, how aching, to thank his tormentor so. Regardless, he doesn’t plan for Ben’s gratitude to last.

He taps the heel of his hand over the backs of Ben’s thighs.

“Spread your legs apart,” he orders.

“OK,” Ben says, as if trying to convince himself it is. “OK.”

His thighs slide open.

Hux gives him an approving pat on the meat of his ass, and lets his hand linger, a soft gentle caress that prickles Ben’s skin with gooseflesh. Ben tenses.

Good.

He moves his hand to the small of Ben’s back and holds it there, a warm solid presence, until Ben lets himself go slack, releasing a long-held breath. Hux strikes then, snake-quick, his hand sliding straight down the center of him, fingers parting the cheeks of Ben’s ass as he goes. He shoves closer still, pressing himself, whole body, into Ben’s back, and grinds his hips into Ben’s crack, letting him feel the weight of his hard cock through the heavy wool of his trousers.

He undoes his zipper without giving Ben time to process it. He doesn’t bother undressing further, just pulls out his cock, gives it a few quick strokes and and presses it, dry, between Ben’s cheeks. Lets him feel it, bare, bumping up against his hole.

Ben draws in a stuttering breath.

Hux replaces his cock with his fingers again, draws bent knuckles down Ben’s crack, thumbs at the tight little clench of his asshole.

“Please,” Ben whispers. “No.”

“No?” Hux asks.

“Please,” Ben repeats.

“Alright,” Hux says calmly, stepping back. He retrieves the knife and lets the peroxide wash over it, bubbling as it hits the floor.

Ben keens when the knife touches flesh, a fat line of blood welling up in its wake as Hux slices downwards. The skin of Ben’s back parts for him easily, from Ben’s nape to his waist. Hux lets the point of the blade rest where he’d rested his hand a few minutes prior, and mentally counts to three before he carefully, oh so carefully drags it down.

He doesn’t want to break the skin here; not yet. He wants Ben to feel the consequence of his _no_ , poised, sharp and horrible, just above his tailbone.

Ben’s breathing intensifies. He is panting, each inhale choppy and short, too loud in the room.

Hux pulls back, flipping his grip on the knife as he does so. One hand wrenches the boy’s cheeks apart and holds them taut, fingers digging roughly in. The other brings the metal closer, resting the edge right over his hole.

He waits, a breath, a heartbeat, and digs the knife forward minutely, a space of a millimeter or less, the metal just kissing at Ben’s pink, twitching rim.

Ben howls. He jerks forward in his bonds, and Hux can’t help wondering when Kylo’s worked out that Hux is holding the knife blade first. If he’s worked it out. It’s possible Kylo would have planned on taking the resulting damage otherwise. Hux doesn’t linger on the thought, that there is something wrong enough with Kylo that he is letting this be done to him. Because of course, on the heels of that thought, inevitably comes another: what more is wrong with him that he wants to do it to Kylo. That in his heart of hearts, he would have rather held the knife by the hilt.

He grabs at the boy’s hip and wrenches him close again, leans so his breath ghosts over the shell of Ben’s ear as he talks.

“Choose,” he says coldly. “My dick, or my knife.”

“Please,” Ben whimpers. “Please. Please.”

“ _Please_ is not one of your choices, Ben. My dick or my knife. Choose, before I choose for you.”

“Your -- your -- “ Ben stammers between breaths.

“Yes?”

“Yourdick,” Ben grits out, swallowing the syllables, as if he is unable to shape the individual words in full.

“Say it again. Louder,” Hux demands. Ben sniffles, a choked-off sob half-formed in his throat.

“Your dick,” he says, louder and clearer.

Hux swaps the knife for the tube of lubricant, and clicks the cap open. For a few moments, the only sounds in the room are the wet squelch of the lube as Hux fists it over his cock, and Ben’s fevered, wheezing breaths. Satisfied, Hux sets the lube aside and swipes a slick hand down Ben’s crack, letting the excess lube drip over his skin. He circles Ben’s rim with the pad of his finger, soft, letting it sink in infinitesimally, nail scraping at the delicate skin.

Gripping tightly onto Ben’s hipbone, he lines up, letting the thick head of his cock bump deliberately too high and then too low, each wrenching a soft _huh_ from the boy’s mouth.

Kylo loves being fucked. Loves fingering himself open while Hux watches. Loves riding his own hand as much as he loves riding Hux’s cock, strings of absolute filth dropping from his mouth, how he wants Hux to split him open, wants to feel him in his slutty ass for days, wants Hux to come in him and plug him up so he is loose and wet and ready whenever Hux wants him next.

Ben is nothing like him. Hux doesn’t fully understand how Kylo is able to turn it on and off like this; a snap of Hux’s fingers and he is a puppet on taut, strained strings, horribly quiet as Hux fucks him open. It’s a tight fit, even with the lube. Ben’s heated, fluttering rim clenches around him as he bottoms out. It must stretch, burn, but Hux sets a harsh pace, thrusts deep, giving Ben no time to adjust.

“Thank me,” he says, wrapping both hands around Ben’s hips and dragging him in, threading him back onto his cock. “Thank me for letting you choose.”

Ben stays silent, save for his feverish, sniffling breaths.

Hux slows his movements. Almost leisurely, inch by inch, he pulls back, until only the head of his dick is still sheathed inside Ben’s body.

“Thank me, Ben,” he repeats. “Say, _Thank you for letting me take your dick_.”

Kylo may balk at this, he thinks, waiting for a response. Of all the things he permits and craves -- pain, force, fear -- shame is one he has never asked for. Unfortunate for him, then, to have asked for anything Hux wanted.

When the words finally come, they are quiet. Incomplete.

“Thank you,” Ben whispers, broken.

It’ll do.

Hux rewards him by rolling his hips sharply forward, his cock pushing in firm, prying him open easier this time. Ben gasps, a breathy, huffed noise; a tremble works through his whole body, shoulders to straining thighs to calves. Hux moves faster, harder; Ben shifts in his bindings with every thrust, tense and pulling against the ropes. His back is shiny with sweat, with the streaks of blood drying in rusty trails. When Hux slides a hand through the mess, a few fresh drops squeeze from the slice at his nape, hang suspended there like tree sap. Hux bends his head and licks them up, tongues at the skin, tasting the iron and salt. He can feel the edges of the cut under his lips, so fine and shallow, and imagines licking it open wider, his tongue a rough edge splitting skin and muscle until he is kissing the bloody jut of Ben’s spine, mouth closing tight on the vertebrae.

He grabs onto Ben’s shoulders and feels the muscles tighten as he digs his nails in. His fingertips are already slick with Ben’s sweat, Ben’s blood; he feels for the rub of bone under the skin and scores his nails over to the tender hollows where shoulders become throat.

Ben moans as Hux digs his thumbnail sharply into the nape of his neck, another bubble of blood spurting up from the cut, and lets his legs slide further apart, like he can barely keep standing.

It doesn’t take him much longer. Ben feels so good around his dick, the tight, heated grip of his ass clinging to Hux’s length as he fucks in and out. He revels in the filthy, crude sound of it, the wet slap of skin on skin, the squelch of lube and precome, Ben’s panting gasps and groans as Hux jack-knifes forward. He can feel it, the tight spiral beginning to uncoil in his guts, his balls drawing up tight, full and ready. His cock is swelling with the rush of it, the hot friction wringing it out of him. He presses his mouth tight to the hollow of Ben’s shoulder, bites down hard, and then he is coming in thick sticky pulses, filling Ben up even fuller, coating the inside of him until he is a slick dripping mess, strings of jizz seeping out around his cock.

He pulls his half-hard cock out slowly, trailing more come over the insides of Ben’s pale thighs. Ben sighs, a low desperate noise, and Hux knees his legs apart a little further and drags two fingers over his swollen, puffy hole, feels for the slimy dribble of come from inside. Ben is loose, stretched; there is barely any resistance when Hux slides his fingers in, scissoring them just a little. He scoops up a fat glob of come and pulls his hand free with a wet pop, brings it up and around to Ben’s half-opened mouth.

“Suck,” he says, smearing the goopy load over Ben’s lips, and feels just the tip of Ben’s tongue slip over his messy hand, apprehensively tasting at it with small, kittenish licks. He lets Ben do it it for a few moments before scooping up more of his cooling jizz from Ben’s thighs; he pushes his fingers into Ben’s mouth this time, past the soft resistance of his plush lips.

“Suck them clean,” he instructs.

Kylo would undoubtedly bite him.

Ben wraps his lips around Hux’s fingers obediently, and sucks. He trails his tongue, wet and warm, over the knuckles, all the way down into the webbing. He mouths at each finger in turn, cleaning the come off, careful to get at it all. Hux can feel a bit of spit dribble out of the corner of his mouth as he works, and swipes it up with his thumb.

After he is satisfied that Ben has had enough, he slips his hand out of his mouth and steps back, tucks his softened cock back inside his underwear and does his trousers back up.

Ben is almost hanging from the ropes again, his full weight pulling on them, legs barely holding him up. He lifts his head when Hux circles to his front. His mouth is red, swollen, like he has been biting it. A small streak of come is still clinging to his chin, where he hasn’t managed to get at it with his tongue. Dirty wet tracks of tears smear his cheeks; he is flushed, still breathing heavily.

Between his legs, his cock is hard, a sloppy glisten of precome at the tip.

Hux laughs.

“Little slut,” he says derisively. “Look at you.”

Ben blinks rapidly, sweeps of long lashes butterfly-swift over his cheekbones.

Hux wraps his hand around Ben’s cock and gives it a slow, deliberate pull, fingers twisting lazily on the upstroke. When he removes his hand, Ben follows, hips canting towards Hux, angling for more friction.

“Slut,” Hux says again, almost affectionate. “Look at how much you want this, dripping all over your thighs like a girl. Saying no to me when what you needed was my cock in your hole. Dumb little whore. Do you want me to touch you?”

Twin emotions war on Ben’s tear-streaked, blushing face. He chews on his pink, swollen lips and looks away from Hux, shifting his weight on the ropes. His legs are still spread apart, the way Hux left him, and Hux imagines his arms must be burning with the strain by now, muscles pulling, raised and bound above his head.

Ben won’t look at him, but his mouth is moving almost silently, lips quietly shaping the word.

“Say _please_ , Ben,” Hux tells him.

Ben mumbles it so softly Hux has to strain to hear it, close as he is. He lays a hand, flat, over the bottom of Ben’s stomach, fingers splayed out right above the dark, wiry hair at his groin. Slowly, he moves his palm down, lets it close softly over Ben’s straining cock and holds it still, a light, frictionless touch while his other hand is already reaching for the knife, bringing it in close.

“Don’t move,” he says, and traces the point of the blade over the crease of Ben’s thigh, leaving a white raised line without quite breaking skin.

More than anything, he wants to take his hand off of Ben’s slutty, dripping cock and lay it over the hilt of the knife, punch up and in, drive it into the soft give of flesh, sever so easily through muscle and artery. It would take just minutes; heavy bleeding through the first before Ben quieted down, blood pressure dropping, eyes sliding shut.

Hux swallows.

Somewhere behind Ben’s pretty, tear-filled eyes, Kylo must know what he is thinking. Has to sense it with that reptilian brain of his.

“You said,” Ben whimpers, betrayed, and his straining voice nudges Hux back from the edge. “You said you wouldn’t use the knife.”

“Did I?” Hux says. “I don’t recall saying anything of the sort.”

“You did!” Ben sputters. “You made me choose.”

“What I _implied_ ,” Hux says, laying a heavy emphasis on the _implied_ , “is that I wouldn’t fuck you with it. And I haven’t.”

He adjusts his grip on Ben’s dick, cupping it underneath, only his thumb circling up and around the base. He raises the knife and brings it down fast, striking at Ben’s shaft with the flat of the blade.

Ben yelps.

Hux does it again, then one more time, Ben’s cock pulsing in his hand. Ben cries out each time, but doesn’t struggle. Hux follows the hurt with another slow stroke of his fingers over Ben’s heated, aching flesh, then pushes Ben’s cock up, straining it towards his stomach. He slaps it with his palm, a quick series of sharp smacks on the tender underside. Ben keeps mewling, but stays hard throughout, the head thick and swollen, veins prominent on the darkened shaft.

Hux resumes stroking him after that, faster this time, jacks him until Ben’s mewls grow more plaintive, desperate, the farther they get from pain. Ben’s hips are moving almost of their own accord, pushing into his grip, and his breaths come loud, hitching in his throat.

When he feels Ben begin to tremble, Hux stops. Picks up the knife again. Presses it lightly into Ben’s sternum.

“Just a little more,” he tells him. “Hush. It’ll be over soon.”

 

* * *

 

Kylo goes slack in his arms, eyes glazed, when Hux finally cuts him down.

There is a lot of blood. Perhaps quite a bit more than he planned.

Hux helps him lie down on the bed, and gets the towels, the alcohol wipes, the ice pack. Sterile bandages. A bottle of water.

He strokes at Kylo’s sweaty, tangled hair gently, mesmerized by the small trickle of red drying on his temple.

Kylo moans.

Hux pulls his hand away reluctantly, and begins to clean him up.

 

* * *

 

“See?” Kylo says later, sitting up against the headboard. “It was good. Are you happy?”

Happy.

Hux looks around.

There are stains on the floor, dark rusty dribbles he will need to scrub out before long. There is more spatter on his clothes; he supposes his shirt, for one, is most likely ruined.

He tugs at a sleeve, messy with red. Kylo’s blood. He is reluctant to throw it away.

Kylo is picking at the bandage on his chest. There are more on his back, his arms. His left thigh. He looks lovely, tense and sweaty and strung out. Happy.

“Yes,” Hux says. “I suppose I am.”

“Good,” Kylo says. “I’m glad. Now get up here and suck my dick. I want to come.”

“Greedy boy.”

Kylo looks up at him expectantly. Over the white swatch of bandage on his thigh, his cock is jutting out from a thatch of dark curls. Hux follows the line of hair with his eyes, as it narrows, thins, all the way up to Kylo’s navel. He thinks of adding twin red slices, gaping, spread open, on each side. He thinks of Kylo’s wet eyes. Thinks of Kylo’s blood, a deep ruby red, mixing with the glistening pale white of his come.

“Not now,” Kylo says, as if he knows exactly what’s in Hux’s head. “Not yet. Maybe someday.”

“I love you,” Hux tells him.

“Of course,” Kylo says, wrapping a bandaged hand over his hard, reddened cock. “Go on, get over here.”

Hux goes.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I'm on Tumblr [here](http://cracktheglasses.tumblr.com/). Come shame me.


End file.
